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View SlideshowRequest to buy this photoJonathan Quilter | DispatchA “for sale” sign was recently placed on the property of the after-hours club at 1323 E. Fulton St., where Marcus VanCleaf was fatally shot earlier this month. Some are frustrated with the violence that such clubs bring.

The traffic, the noise, the loitering and often the drug sales that accompany the clubs mean
they shouldn’t be allowed to operate, many say.

“They can come in and take Donald Sterling’s NBA team, but you mean no one can come in and shut
this place down?” said a cousin of VanCleaf’s who lives just down the street from the club. The
name of the club changes so frequently that no one can keep up with what it’s officially
called.

The cousin did not want his name published, because of fear of retribution.

But authorities say it isn’t easy to close a club, that it takes a long time to build a case for
what generally is a misdemeanor charge that carries only a fine. Many of the after-hours clubs
operate in private homes. Although there might be suspicious activity both inside and out, taking
your own booze to a private place and drinking it is not illegal.

(The latest any bar with a state liquor license can serve alcohol is 2:30 a.m.)

Columbus police commanders say they try to stay on top of the clubs. Investigators have broken
up 47 locations since 2009 and, in that same time frame, have charged 66 people under city or state
laws for operating illegal alcohol joints.

Detectives say they are frustrated because, until a homicide draws widespread attention to a
club, the neighborhood is often all too willing to look the other way, generally because the
residents don’t want to cooperate with police.

South Side activist Linda Henry thinks the lack of complaints to authorities is for a different
reason: “Nine times out of 10, people are afraid to say anything,” she said.

Fifteen people have been killed since 2009 in 14 separate shootings and stabbings at what were
known as after-hours clubs in Columbus. But to say they’re any more violent than some legitimately
operating seedy bars would be difficult, said Columbus Police Cmdr. Gary Cameron, who oversees the
vice squad.

“It’s something which has plagued mankind since the onset of alcohol,” Cameron said. “When
people drink excessively, they lose control of themselves and make bad decisions.”

Police deal with two kinds of after-hours clubs: boot joints and BYOBs.

BYOBs aren’t breaking the law. An operator charges a fee, and customers bring their own alcohol
and hang out. When the operators start selling booze, they are running an illegal boot joint.

Boot joints are mostly concentrated in lower-income neighborhoods, Cameron said. People frequent
them because it makes more sense to go down the street and spend a few bucks than go to a
legitimate bar and spend more.

Keeping up with either is like a game of Whac-A-Mole for authorities. If a landlord or the
police get wind of an operation, the operators pack up and move somewhere else. That makes them
hard to track.

“They don’t have a license,” said Columbus Police Lt. Ronald Kemmerling, who supervises the vice
section. “Generally, the person running the after-hours is not the property owner. If you’re trying
to do a nuisance abatement, it’s very tough.”

It can take months of surveillance, failed attempts at entry and undercover buys before there’s
enough evidence for a search warrant, Kemmerling said. And when an operator is charged, it’s
generally a misdemeanor that carries only a fine.

There are routes authorities can take besides criminal courts to try to shut down the clubs.
Fire inspectors closed one at 3836 E. Livingston Ave. last weekend. That address has been the site
of two homicides since 2012, and the fire division closed it for an overcrowding violation in a
commercial building, said George Speaks, assistant city public-safety director.

Ultimately, though, the best way to close the clubs is to end the demand, he said. “These are
dangerous. Don’t go there.”

Because the clubs often operate in otherwise abandoned or long-vacant properties, the property
owners are sometimes behind on taxes. That’s the case with the club where VanCleaf died; the owner
owes $10,524.73, according to the Franklin County treasurer’s office.

The city has never tried to shut down a club using a property-tax foreclosure, but City Attorney
Richard C. Pfeiffer Jr. doesn’t rule it out.

“If somebody complains about it, tells us about it, we can examine what the options are,” he
said.

If the property is seized and no one buys it at a public sale, the city has the right to take it
into its land bank and raze the building, but that could cost at least $10,000 and take a year,
Pfeiffer said.

The city also could go to environmental court and ask the judge to declare the club a nuisance,
but that also takes time, he said.

This is not a problem that only Columbus fights. Cincinnati and Toledo have both had some
success closing clubs, sometimes through the courts and other times by ratcheting up the heat.

Toledo has shuttered such places for either building-code violations or by declaring it a public
nuisance, but Lt. Sean Jones, commander of the vice narcotics squad with the Toledo Police
Department, agreed that the process takes a lot of manpower and time.

The city also has used its Crime Suppression Team, Jones said. It goes after problem clubs by
talking to the door security; asking to speak to the owner; and keeping a heavy presence in the
neighborhood, hanging around and arresting people when officers see violations.

“It gets uncomfortable for everyone, and they pretty quickly close up shop,” he said.

Victor Peoples, VanCleaf’s uncle, is among those now begging for change. The family has long
lived on Kimball Place not far from the club, and Peoples said he has asked for help before.

“I’m asking what the city can do to get this building torn down,” Peoples told the Columbus City
Council last Monday. “For the past 30 years, this establishment has been an after-hours club. I
just want it gone. My neighborhood wants that house gone.”

Councilman Zach Klein, who leads the public-safety committee, told Peoples there is no easy
answer, that proving that an after-hours club is doing something illegal is complicated.

He said later that he wonders if there are other options.

“If they are charging at the doors and inviting friends, is it something we can require a permit
for?” Klein asked. “This is beyond a bunch of people coming over and playing video games.”

Since VanCleaf was killed, police have stepped up patrols, neighbors said. Their cruisers creep
up and down the streets. A “for sale” sign went up on the side of the building on Tuesday.

“Right now, everybody’s looking out, but there’s no knowing how long that’s gonna last,” said a
woman who lives next door to the club. She also didn’t want her name published, for fear of
retribution.

When she moved in four months ago, she thought what happened next door was not her business, she
said. But that was then.

“My young son was asleep downstairs” when VanCleaf was shot, she said. “Now, it’s for real. What
if a bullet came this way?”